Dictator

32

Wendell Klerk didn’t like to be hurried on a Saturday morning and saw no need to hurry his guests. The staff were on hand from the crack of dawn to provide anything anyone might want, but the first set event of the day was a midday brunch.

‘So, Sam, are you ready to shoot some clay pigeons?’ Klerk said, emphasizing his words with jabs of a sausage-laden fork.

Zalika smiled at Carver. ‘My uncle is very proud of his shooting ground. He had to bulldoze half of Suffolk to make it.’

‘At least half!’ said Klerk. ‘Patrick, will you be joining us?’

Tshonga smiled and shook his head. ‘No, Wendell, I have never had any skill with a gun. While my brothers were fighting for freedom in the bush-’

‘Ja, fighting me!’ Klerk interrupted.

‘I was studying law. All these years later, I am still happy just to read while others play with guns.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Klerk. ‘Brianna is not a great fan of shooting either, are you?’

‘Well, it’s not as boring as golf,’ Brianna sighed.

Carver laughed. So the plaything had a sense of humour hidden away inside that doll-like figure. There was more to her than met the eye. She had that, at least, in common with Zalika.

‘Very good,’ said Klerk, sounding rather less amused. ‘So now we three who will be shooting must agree on the stakes. What do you say, Sam, how about the two losers each give the winner ten thousand US?’

‘If you like,’ said Carver, unenthusiastically.

‘Not enough for you? What if we make it fifty grand each?’

‘Honestly, Wendell, can’t you see Sam’s not interested in money?’ Zalika said.

‘He was the last time I paid him.’

‘Well of course, that was business,’ Zalika insisted. ‘But if we want to get him interested today, it has to be something more personal. Now, I seem to remember that yesterday he called me, and I quote, a “screwed-up schoolgirl who’s got bugger-all training, experience or competence for this kind of work”. Sorry, Sam, but that’s not the sort of thing a girl forgets in a hurry. So my wager is this. I bet you can’t beat little schoolgirl me in a straightforward head-to-head shooting match. And I’m not going to put any money on it because I know that if you, the great Samuel Carver, action hero extraordinaire, can’t shoot better than a helpless, weak and feeble female, you’ll lose something – well, a couple of things, actually – that say more about you than cash ever can.’

‘Ahahaha!’ Klerk burst out laughing. ‘You’re really putting your balls on the line here, my man! Don’t be fooled by this kid. She’s a Stratten. She was blasting away all over the family estates when she was still in nappies.’

‘You’re on,’ said Carver.

Zalika smiled. ‘Excellent.’

One by one the others drifted away until Carver and Zalika were alone in the room. She sat herself down next to him and pulled her chair right over to his. Then she leaned forward so close it seemed to Carver that her sea-blue eyes were not just looking at him but through him, and very softly said, ‘If you want to take me, you’ll have to beat me first. And believe me, Carver, I won’t make it easy.’